Playing with the Big Boys
by YaoiFanL
Summary: Amelia (fem!America) had always had a thing for older men. When the guy came as a salvation to her falling, she didn't hesitate to accept his offer. And perhaps a relationship based on respect, not on pure love, wasn't so bad. What she didn't know was that said relationship might have ended her life way too soon. Now she finds herself caught between the Mafia and a cute detective.
1. Chapter 1

** Disclaimer: Hetalia and all its characters belong to Himaruya. This is fan-made and nonprofit.**

**Also, Sandra and Gregory are the only OCs there (because one, I needed someone to bring that envelope and, two, no existing character I could think of would have fitted).**

**Just to be sure: **

**Amelia = nyo!America / fem!America. As long as I'm aware that is her cannon name.**

**Lovino Vargas = South Italy (Romano)**

**Maria = nyo!Prussia. I found her name as being Maria or Julia, but I prefer Maria, so...**

* * *

Chapter I

Arthur Kirkland was your typical Englishman - tea-addicted, a whole bunch of manners that most didn't give a fuck about, serious and hardworking most of the time, quite cold and distant when it came to emotions, but you couldn't label him as heartless. The fact that his partner often complained about it or about his 'poisonous cooking' was a subjective view. Then again, after you end up in the emergency room for eating a cookie... He wasn't really to blame. Now, Arthur's cooking wouldn't have been so bad, had it not been for his little experiments during the making process. God knew what extra ingredients he mixed in that food! Strangely enough, the only trait not fitting the English profile was the music; for some reason, he was into the punk-rock music, much to everyone's surprise, whom probably assumed he'd have listened to classics or just nothing at all. There were also those extremely thick eyebrows which couldn't be attached to any nation's people's profile. At first sight, they were slightly disturbing and one couldn't possible pass by without wondering about his eyebrows, but it was something defining for him. It also provided as a good way to recognize him if anyone forgot his name, although it was hard to forget it.

The stuffy eyebrows weren't the only impressive thing about detective Kirkland. His folder was more attention-drawing: with all cases solved in the shortest possible time and with the least casualties, starting with small robberies and ending with infiltrations or 'cleaning' missions, he was one of the best detective in UK and one of the top agents working for the Interpol. Of course, the latter was to stay as much of a secret as possible. All the Interpol agents had, supposedly, their identities protected and no one from outside knew who worked there, let alone whom was paired with whom.

Speaking of pairs... Arthur glanced at the Frenchman laying on his couch. Well, their couch. Much to his dismay, they had to share an office because it would help their communication, according to their boss. How did they end up working together, again? Oh, right, cases. Sometime during his second year at the Interpol, he had been introduced to this awful Frenchman, whom he was supposed to work with at some investigation that involved both England and France. Seeing as they were the best representatives of their countries, they had been paired up. Fortunately, the case went smoothly and turned up as a huge success. Unfortunately, that huge success bound them as partners for almost four years now. How many times had he tried to switch partners! He would have exchanged his partner for that dog-loving German anytime! Distant and all too serious as most described him, but at least he was hardworking and didn't flirt with any creature walking on two legs, plus Arthur would have loved some privacy. Or that Russian guy! Sure, he freaked out everyone with his apparently innocent smile, but the Brit could deal with that. Or the Asian - Kiku Honda or something like that. Kirkland didn't know much about him, wasn't quite sure about his name either, but he seemed like an alright person. Overly polite and mostly hard to read, but that wasn't a matter of concern; most agents were hard to read for obvious reasons. Yes, Kiku would have been an excellent option... Oh, right, he worked in a different section. Arthur was mostly a field agent while the Asian worked at the labs. Then there was the Hungarian girl, whom most would have labeled as hot and badass, though also a bitch too because she just knew how to put a guy back in his place. He didn't care about how attractive she was, she just seemed like a good partner. While she was also a field agent, her partner would deny any and every offer. Unfortunately. The Brit thought that her partner might have liked to work with Francis, seeing as they seemed to get along well... And be almost equally pervert. Almost. No one could reach the French's level of romance and erotism.

Kirkland sighed, leaning back on his desk chair. It was impossible. If the Interpol wanted him paired with the infamous Francis Bonnefoy, there was nothing he could do about it. You just didn't play with the Interpol. Do as the big bosses say or get 'cleaned'. He couldn't really quit his job there either; once working for them, you would do so to the day you die. Or the day you tire, if you're lucky to reach that day.

Speaking of working... Where was that search warrant? He needed it if he wanted to take a proper look inside the Vargas Casino. Going there as a client again won't do it; the casino's owner may have been young, but he wasn't a fool. Or not fool enough to leave everything at sight. The detective knew for sure that some illegal affairs were going on inside there. Smuggling, weapon traffic, human traffic,murders and whatnot - given the Vargas family antecedents, he wouldn't put anything behind the new family head. The deals and exchanges must have been taking place in a private area of the place, where not anyone was allowed to enter. He would have certainly been one of those unallowed without a searching warrant. As if on clue, there was a soft knock, followed by a feminine head popping out from behind the door.

"Guess what I have?" She grinned, holding out an envelope.

Arthur jumped on his feet, crossing the distance to the woman almost too enthusiastically. He opened the envelope eagerly and pulled out the desired mandate. A genuine smile tugged at his lips. He had been working at the case for about two years now, but got stuck a few months ago. Now things were slowly starting to work again.

"Thank you, Sandra."

"Vash said you should wear a bulletproof vest, just in case. Also, Elizabeta will be in the area and ready to interfere if necessarily."

The Brit nodded. He was playing with the Italian Mafia here, you could never be too cautious with them. He opened his mouth to reply when a muffled noise cut him off. Sandra turned her gaze to the sleeping French, blushing furiously when she realised what that noise meant.

"W-well, I... I should go...yeah..." She clumsily hurried to the door, adding a short 'Good luck' before closing the door.

Arthur sighed - he was too used to Francis' dreams to be affected by them anymore. Though he couldn't help but wonder how it was possible to have such dreams in a work office. Then again, it was Francis Bonnefoy. That was enough of an explanation.

"Wake up, frog! We got the search warrant."

Francis groaned in disapproval, attempting to roll onto his belly, but instead falling off the couch. Much to the Englishman's amusement. The French muttered something about not finishing his beauty sleep, a detail quickly dismissed by Kirkland. Within two minutes, Bonnefoy was fully awake.

"So we just go there and search through the casino?"

"Yes."

"No arresting?" Francis asked, running a hand through his blond locks, attempting to fix them.

"Unless we find enough evidence."

"Isn't this enough of an evidence?"

Arthur glanced at his partner only to see him gesturing towards his body. Clearly, it wasn't Lovino that he wanted to 'arrest' for a night or two. He face-palmed. Francis was in his mid thirties, while the Brit had yet to reach 29, but the French acted like a horny teenager. And the bulge down south caused by the wet dream only confirmed Kirkland's worries.

"Perhaps you should take...a bathroom break before we start."

"I don't need one. We're going to Vargas Casino, non?"

"We are not arresting anyone for personal purposes. Solve your 'problem' now."

"Now?"

"Now."

Francis stared at him for a second. "I didn't know you had such fantasies, mon cher." He purred teasingly, reaching for his belt. "But I'm m-"

"That's not what I meant! Try to be professional for once."

Francis just laughed at him. "You're too easy to tease, Arthur."

"Kirkland."

"You're too easy to tease, 'Sexy Legs' Kirkland."

It was going to be a long way to the casino... And he would probably have to pay a visit to the psychologist. Again. Now, he didn't do therapy, but the psychologist always managed to make his partner stay put. No one knew how. Plus, this psychologist was a pleasant company. A sane, mentally healthy, normal company.

* * *

The night had started well. As usually, the slots machines were the most popular amongst the clients with small budgets. Then there were the classic cards and the roulettes. That was the area opened to the general audience. Behind closed door was the VIP part of the casino. Bigger bets, bigger wins, bigger losses, bigger deals. Only one category of people was allowed here: Mafia. Of course, mobsters came by with their guards, their 'friends', their informers, their lovers... Either way, any and every single VIP member or guest was bound to the mafia one way or another. These rooms weren't only for gambling, they were for business and pleasure. This Friday night, for example, there was supposed to be an auction. Some traffickers had called regarding new 'stuff', quality 'stuff' and Lovino just knew how interested his fellows would be. However, the event was delayed by a few days based one of his employee's warning. Now, Lovino wasn't the one to get orders from his employees - he was the head of the clan, dammit! -, but this particular girl proved to be right with her warnings. Where she got her information from, she wouldn't tell; it was always 'that's my little secret'. He didn't like secrets. Normally, he would have forced the truth out her mouth or just kill her on the charge of being a spy for the police. She was an exception, though. She had given him no reason to doubt her loyalty, apart from that little secret. And her body wasn't anything to leave aside.

...oh, and the tomato bastard. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the one who had an irremediable crush on his 'boss', a crush that everyone knew about and even a blind man could see it. Only Lovino couldn't. The annoying Spaniard who would certainly jump in if Vargas wanted to kill off the girl. Why was still a mystery to everyone. Lovino could only assume that he fell for her, a supposition that would have made sense for just one person: himself.

Either way, the selective group was once again gathered into the VIP rooms. Some were playing roulettes, but most occupied the seats around the cards tables. They were the regular members, along with a few lovers. Or one night partners, one could never be sure.

"Gentlemen," a voice breaking the monotony drew everyone's attention. It was thick and hold a hoarse ringing, but the accent was clearly British. Eight gazes turned to the man named Gregory Hart. He was in his early fifties, though his features made him look a few years younger. His hair had grown grey by now, currently slicked back into an old-fashioned style. The time dyed his beard and mustache a darker shade of the same colour. Yet, a sparkle of life, of youth was eagerly burning into those ocean blue eyes. His thin lips parted into a smirk, revealing flashing white teeth. "I think a won again."

Hart pulled a cigar out of the chest inner pocket of his black suit's jacket. His thick eyebrows, the only wild thing of his appearance, knitted together when he couldn't find the lighter. He was about to ask someone for one when his hand brushed over a metallic surface. Satisfied, he quickly grabbed it and lit his cigar. The man sucked a long breath, then released the smoke into small puffs.

"I feel lucky tonight. Would you like another hand?"

And so another round of poker started. Five minutes later, Gregory won again with a royal flush. His voice cracked into a loud laughter.

"What do you think, Amelia? I think you bring me luck!"

A pair of creamy white hands wrapped around the man, embracing him from behind. Rosy full lips approached Hart's ear.

"I think I'm your lucky charm." Her soft voice was dressed in sweet honey as she whispered into her lover's ear, earning a grin from him.

She batted her long eyelashes at the other players, who were throwing jealous glares at Gregory. And they had one hell of a reason to be jealous! Amelia F. Jones was a beautiful young lady, 19 years old and in full blooming. Her cheerful, wild personality contrasting with her attire, she looked like a feline ready to capture her prey. And oh God, how any man at the table would have gladly fell in her trap. The black dress hugged her frame perfectly, cutting a V-shaped decolletage and also a slit from her thigh to the floor, revealing part of a long leg. Ironically, the curves she had always been concerned about making her look fat were emphasised on purpose now. Fox fur lay on her shoulders and bare back - she had always been against natural fur due to animal care, but she had to admit it looked nice. Amber locks were pulled into a simple loop except for two strands flowing in waves down, almost to her shoulders. Small earring in shape of white pearls adorned her earlobes, although it was a gentle touch. To complete the pictures, add a pair of delicate stiletto with the heels of 10 cm. Oh, and there was also a golden ring with a small stone in the middle - the first gift she had received from Gregory.

Now, Amelia wasn't an easy woman, nor a gold digger. She would have lied to say she was in love with this man. She held some kind of affection for him, though it couldn't be describe as that kind of love. She had always liked older guys, but this one was old enough to be her father. The sad truth was that she pretended to love him from the bottom of her heart for his wealth. She had her reasons, though, which weren't purely out of selfishness. More likely, out of tiresome. Plus, Hart acted like a gentleman most of the time. He had always been kind, understanding and protective. She didn't recall one moment when she didn't feel safe around him, although some of the people he was hanging out with were giving her the creeps. Oh, well, as long as he wasn't like them...

Perhaps she made the right choice when she accepted his advances. Sure, she wasn't into the whole sophisticated thing, but she could handle it. A few times even, playing the lady proved quite funny.

"How much?" One of the men at the table finally voiced his desires. "How much do you want for a night with her?"

That crossed the line. A deep frown darkened Hart's features as he opened his mouth to speak. However, he was cut off before any word came out.

"What was that, asshole?" It was times like this when her ladylike attitude slipped off. It didn't seem to bother her partner, though. "C'mon, say that again!" She was ready to kick that guy's ass and couldn't care less about what anyone in the casino had to say about it. What the jerk didn't know was how right he was about the feline thing - while she was not after a prey, she was as dangerous as a predator when angry. Former and current colleagues or neighbors could confirm it.

The mob who made the offer seemed taken aback for a moment, clearly not expecting a comeback. Then he gritted his teeth, preparing a sharp reply of his own. He was not going to let a little girl act like that to him. Well, he wasn't until the casino's owner came to the table. Whether it was to calm the spirits or to kill some time wasn't clear, but chances were for the latter.

"Are we playing or what?" The Italian snapped, lowering into one of the chairs and tapping his fingers on the table impatiently.

Lovino was pissed, Amelia noticed. Well, he was always pissed. He just looked more pissed than usually. Did the Spaniard do some again? Judging by the way Antonio headed outside, shoulders slumbered and head down, he did. Nothing unusual.

* * *

Francis was a pain in the arse - Arthur could say that much. He had been talking about things which the Brit didn't need to know about for their whole trip to the casino. It would provide some good material for nightmares... For a whole week of sexual nightmares. The younger shivered at the thought. Glad that they had finally reached the place - even more glad that he had a reason to make the Frenchman stop speaking or at least change the subject -, Kirkland rushed towards the entrance. As expected, two guards stood by the door. No, three.

Weren't there supposed to be two?

On one side stood a large man, smoking and...wearing a mask? Arthur quickly disregarded the thought - unimportant details. He looked like trouble, but they had a few more agents with them, so if things turned for the worse, it should have been easy to put him down. On the other side, a Spaniard leaned against the wall. Words rushed out his mouth - by the looks of it, the massive guy didn't even bother to understand Spanish, while the female in the middle seemed to try to figure out what he was saying, though failing miserably. At a closer scan, the whining one wasn't wearing a guard uniform.

There were two guard, after all.

As the agents approached, the female appeared to have noticed them. She cut off the Spaniard and whispered something, then the man went inside. She took a last drag of her own cigarette, then dropped it on the ground, crushing it under her boot. A woman working as a guard - fact confirmed by the uniform and combat boots - was a rare sight, although the blonds couldn't honestly say that he ever saw her as feminine. Well, maybe Francis did, if flirting was included.

"Arthur. Francis." A confident grin adorned her features as she looked at the two. "Good to see you around." The Frenchman smiled pleasantly, while Kirkland just ignored her. Partly because of that, she placed her hand between the Englishman and the door.

"Maria." He warned.

"Invitation." She smiled sweetly. "Please."

With obvious displeasure, he pulled out the search in warrant. "This is my invitation. Good enough? Let me pass."

"Bossy much?" She snatched the paper, apparently checking if it was real or just fake. Maria took her time, although she knew it was valid. The act's whole purpose was gaining time. She could heard the detective's impatience growing. Finally fixing her eyes on him again, she handed back the mandate. "I'd rather have you not shooting anyone, though."

"Unless necessarily."

"Geez, why did you do?" She asked Francis once the angry agent entered.

"Just called him 'Sexy Legs' Kirkland and teased him a little."

* * *

The spirits calmed down, although Amelia occasionally glared at that one jerk. Right when another round was over, Antonio stormed inside. He walked straight to Lovino, leaning over a little to whisper something to his ear. The Italian frowned, barking a few words in his mother language. The American wasn't sure whether Antonio understood what his boss was growling, but she knew she didn't. With a roll of his eyes, Lovino stood up.

"We close earlier tonight. Hurry up and get out."

Vargas exchanged knowing looks with the people in the room, whom nodded and reluctantly made their ways to the door. Amelia stared at the owner, not understanding why he just kicked them out. Something was off. But what was that something? She didn't have time to figure out what was wrong, as she felt a hand on her lower back.

"We should go."

Something in Gregory's voice betrayed urgency. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. There was no room for question or denial. He must have known something. Amelia reluctantly listened, but made a mental note to interrogate him later. It was way too strange to be overlook. And then, the door burst open and cops stormed in.

* * *

_**A/N: That's it for now. I hope it wasn't too boring, but I had to make a little introduction. **_

_**Reviews are always appreciated.**_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back with a new chapter! ^^

I gotta say, I was a little disappointed, I guess I was too optimistic... But I'd like to thank everyone who read, faved and followed and especially to those who took the time to review. Also, a big thank you to Malina for the Turing thing - you know what I'm talking about.

On another note, I'm working on another fanfic, obviously UKUS...or USUK...I'll see who'll be the top. Anyway, keep an eye open 'cause I'm gonna post it soon! It's called 'The Evil Comic' - the summary is in the end A/N.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter II**

Amelia didn't get to take a proper look of what was going on, but the corner of her eye caught the sight of a particular cop. Supposedly cop. Or more likely, the sight of his eyebrows... _'Dude, they're thicker than Gregory's!'_ She also spotted, though for only a second, a tuft of lemony yellow. She assumed it was the man's hair, which she didn't have time to check.

"This way." Gregory whispered in his regular husky voice.

"But the exit is-"

"Trust me."

She pursed her lips, not really pleased. The businessman opened a door, expecting her to step into the newfound corridor. It was obviously a secret door, considering that it was framed into the wall in such a way that one would have easily mistaken it for the design of the hall. For a moment, she wondered why a casino would have needed such a secret exist. Then again, she trusted her partner wholeheartedly, so the doubts were disregarded right away and she made the first few steps. As he followed her, Hart closed the door behind them, sinking the place into pitch black. Amelia squeezed her eyes, trying to peer at the stairs. Pitiful attempt. She couldn't see anything. She brought a hand in front of her. Still nothing. The blonde pouted; now she had to walk based on her instincts and instincts alone. It couldn't have been so hard, could it? Heroes did it all the time in comics and movies. And she was a heroine herself! Or in the process of becoming one, anyway. With a new boast of enthusiasm, she made a step into the darkness. Much to her dismay, her shoe slipped on the stair, almost causing her to fall. A shriek echoed as she stretched her arms in search for something to hold on. Fortunately, the corridor was narrowed - two people couldn't walk side by side -, and she regained her balance. A sigh escaped her lips.

"Be careful."

"Trying. It'd be easier if I saw something."

The female trailed her fingers along the wall, on a short distance, but enough to guess its texture. Bricks - certainly bricks. There didn't seem to be anything to rub on her fingertips, nor something to fill the gaps between one and the next brick or to soften the material at the touch. It lacked dye. It also lacked bulbs or, at least, something to start a fire, maybe a torch. Probably too much to ask for. As if a bright idea struck him - although it was basically Amelia's comment -, Gregory lit up his lighter. So much better! Looking down, she could finally figure the stairs. They were made of stone and slightly uneven; not all of them had the same size, some stretched to a quarter metre while other stopped to a few inches. The edge of each of them was rather sloppy sculptured, line not straight. Small, almost unnoticeable holes dug into the stairs; however, they were enough for her heels to stuck into. So she did the easiest thing she could: she took off her shoes. Sure, the stones were cold and rough, but they didn't hold as much danger of slipping as they had had before.

Hart directed her towards the other end of the corridor. The further they walked, the more turns they had to take. It was like a labyrinth. It must have been half an hour by now, for the air seemed to get thicker by every breath. Her body started feeling heavier, although she still had lots of energy left. The atmosphere was strangely hot - wasn't it supposed to be colder in the basement...or wherever they were? They kept going down the path, the voices from the casino becoming shallow whispers if anything; soon, there was no other sound than their steps and breaths.

* * *

Arthur had had enough. His patience had grown thin during the ride to the casino and even thinner when he got nothing out of the mandate. His men had searched through every room they could find, but there was nothing wrong. Well, there were _lots_ of wrong things, just not some that they could find. He started to think that Vargas somehow knew about their raid. Not very logical, seeing as he got the mandate about two hours ago...but still a possibility! Maybe they had a traitor among those who were approving the mandates. Lovino's impatience didn't help much, either. In fact, the Italian's frown and foot tapping only bothered him further.

"Done yet, bastard?"

Of course, Lovino had all the right to be annoyed by the intrusion. They had most likely destroyed a good night. Arthur couldn't care less, though. He chatted silently with one of his men, whom only informed him about the failure. Taking a glimpse at the casino's owner, he could have bet his tea that he had seen a victorious smirk on his face. The Latin behind him - the one telling him something in what Kirkland assumed to be Spanish - might have been the reason, but the blond had the feeling that Vargas was just making fun of them. Yes, he definitely knew about the raid. Nodding to the cop, the detective turned to the mob.

"We're done here." He announced loud enough for everyone to hear. "Now, you'll have to accompany us to the section."

"No."

"It's not up to you."

"You have no right to ask me that."

"Of course I do. I have a mandate on your name. Easy way: come willingly; hard way: I'll drag you there. Choose."

Arthur's voice hold no hint of a lie. He hoped that Lovino would buy it, thus maybe giving some information at the section. Just maybe, for the Italian wasn't fool enough to get himself behind the bars so easily. He could hear Francis swiftly approaching him and whispering so no one could hear: _"You don't have a mandate for arrest."_ But Kirkland disregarded the reminder, keeping up his act. Whether Lovino heard his partner or it just didn't work, the young man still refused to obey. It had been worth a try, anyway.

Another row of Spanish words followed, something along the lines of 'Kick them out'. Obviously, the Italian had had enough too. They were not welcomed there. As if on clue, a canary flew around the blond, then towards the exist. Arthur took it as a confirmation, but the others seemed amused. What was so funny? Most of them tried to hide their chuckles, but the Frenchman - and the 'enemies' - wasn't so concerned.

"You have some shit on your shoulder."

Green eyes fell on the shoulder. Apparently, the canary wasn't confirming anything, but giving him a 'gift'. A stinky, sticky gift.

"Perfect."

* * *

After what seemed like hours, they had finally reached the end of the corridor. Although pale due to the moon, the light outside was still better. And the air was fresh! Relatively. There was a trashcan a few metres away, but it was little to no important.

Amelia shivered a little at the cool breeze. Compared to the corridor, the temperature decreased with a considerable amount of degrees. She rubbed her arms, attempting to warm up. Fortunately, Gregory was nice enough to place his jacket on her shoulders. She silently thanked him and tightened the piece of clothing around her. As she did so, she checked out the surroundings. They were in some alley, rather dirty, which caused her to put her shoes back on. Heels were not the ideal thing on muddy ground, but it was better than walked barefoot. Either way, she didn't recognise the area until Gregory leaded her down the path. They ended up right at the park where Hart left the car. The blonde sprinted up to the car, grateful that the man disabled the alarm immediately. The sunk into the front chair, spoiling herself into the welcoming warmth inside the vehicle. He joined her a moment later.

Half of the ride was spent in silence. There was no particular reason to it, more like a dozen of questions needing to be answered and a million explanations to be given. Almost impossible to choose just one thing.

"Would you like to stay over?"

Gregory's inquiry cut through the trance that Amelia was into. She had been staring out the window, not really paying attention to the landscape. She had been too focused on the incident at the casino.

"Hm?" The blond blinked at him.

"I asked if you would have liked to stay over? My place is near and I'm sure you'd find it comfortable. Besides, it'd be good to have someone by your side after...after what happened."

Amelia chewed on her lower lip. She knew what that proposal really meant; it was far from an innocent one, one concerned about her well-being, about her fear - not like she had any - or anything akin. They reached that point, didn't they? She hadn't been looking forward to it. Gregory looked good for his age, true; he surely had the touches too; yet, she didn't want it. She just didn't feel the need, nor did she feel ready.

"No, I'll be fine."

Hart glanced at her. A harsh blame burn into his eyes, which Amelia didn't quite catch. However, it would have been obvious for anyone else that he wanted it as soon as possible. They had been in a relationship for a while, he had been patient, given her time - he had been waiting enough. One could easily read the desire in the way he watched her. He sighed disappointed. He didn't want to push it tonight - it had been a rough night and it wouldn't have been wise.

"What happened, anyway?"

Gregory shrugged casually. He had expected this question, though. "I suppose it was just the police checking out the Vargas Casino. They do that to every casino once in a while. It's nothing to worry about."

"Then why did you hurry to get out? And that secret passage? It's fishy!"

"Amelia," he sighed once more. "I doubt that a police raid is anything nice to remember. I just wanted to spare you from such a memory."

"If you say so..."

It made some sense. Still dubious, though.

"Are you sure about this?" Gregory asked again as he parked in front of a building. It was old and its stability seemed questionable. The paint fell off on various places; graffiti covered the brick walls and the small spots of dye remained, only on the ground floor, though. A few windows were cracked or broken, giving the impression of a desolated building that no one lived in. Many lived there, though, the many who couldn't afford something better. With the university costs, Amelia was still one of them. She had refused on moving in with Hart for one reason: night activities. Alright, there was also the fact that, when he wasn't around, she could be fully herself, not having to pretend to be a lady.

In a last attempt, Gregory gently caressed her thigh. His hand felt rough against her tender skin. It gave her an unpleasant shiver, causing her to tense. The blonde, however, hid it behind an innocent smile.

"Yep. Totally." She beamed before undoing the seatbelt. They shared a quick kiss, then she stepped out the car. " 'Night!"

The narrowed alley leading to the building was as unsafe as it appeared to be. Once the car was out of sight, Amelia hurriedly made her way to the entrance. She could take care of herself - she just didn't feel like kicking someone for her own safety tonight. So she quickly climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor and stormed into her apartment. Locking the door behind her, she immediately tossed the shoes aside, not bothering to even use her hands. Walking towards the bedroom, she proceeded to remove the jewelry. She stopped in front of the mirror, staring at her own reflection for a long minute. That woman was nothing like her - apart from anatomical features and the hair colour. That woman looked classy and reserved; Amelia was energetically and full of life. She slowly undid the loop, allowing her strands to fall in waves to her shoulder. The dress followed suite, sliding down to the ground, then the lingerie. She took a quick shower, washing away all the fake mask and every scent associated to it. After drying herself, she pulled on a large shirt. It was simple, barely reaching her thighs and with the number 50 on the front.

* * *

As amusing as it had been, Gilbird's 'gift' didn't serve well to Maria. Hence why she was now in the interrogation room at the Interpol's headquarter.

"Let's try again," the detective spoke evenly, rubbing his temple. Really, she proved of no use, apart from a way of wasting a few hours worth of sleeping. "When does Vargas make the next move?"

"Dunno." Maria said with a shrug.

"Then where will it take place?"

"Dunno."

"Did he know about tonight's raid?"

"Possible."

"Who told him?"

"Someone."

"What's that someone's name?"

"I think his name was something like you-are-wasting-your-time." She smirked, placing her feet on the table and crossing her ankles.

"Take your feet off the table."

Maria rolled her eyes, but did so. "Listen." Suddenly, any hint of joke or tease faded from her face. "I've been trained not to spill anything. I won't do it, no matter what you say or do. You know it too. So make us both a favour and let me go."

"All say they won't give any information - they all eventually give."

"This is my case, okay?"

"Vargas is my case too."

"Well, it was mine first."

"Perhaps they passed it to me because you couldn't handle it."

Maria laughed as if Arthur had just said the best joke ever. "Couldn't handle it? The awesome me can handle anything!"

"Apparently you can't. Vargas is still free, doing whatever he pleases. On the other hand, agents and innocent people alike die because of him."

"Well, they wouldn't die if they stayed out of the way. So stay out of it!"

"You're in my way too. I start to think you changed sides."

"Think again. I'm not a traitor."

"Prove it."

"Not falling for it. I'm not gonna tell you anything."

"We shall see. I hope, for your best, that you will change your mind."

That being said, Arthur marched to the door. Once outside, he looked at his partner. "Your turn. Announce me tomorrow about what she said." He had spent too much time at work already; the soft mattress and puffy pillows were waiting him home, ready to welcome him with a warm embrace. Hopefully some sweet dreams too.

While Kirkland was on his way home, Francis took his coffee and entered the interrogation room. By now, everyone else left. Instead of using the chair, he seated himself on the table. Although he rarely smoke, he pulled out a pack of cigars, knowing that Maria did.

"Ah, the classic bad cop, good cop." She took a cigar with a smirk and placed it between her lips. The handcuffs attaching her left hand to the table made a high pitched noise as she moved. "Is this really necessarily?"

"A safety measure. Remember what happened last time?" Francis said with a shrug. He pulled out the lighter and lit the tobacco. He contemplated for a moment whether he should use the key and free his friend, eventually deciding on doing so.

Maria rubbed her wrist. "You could take them for later, though."

"Plans for tonight?"

"Yep. And now you have plans too."

It wasn't like a deal or anything akin to it to gain information. It was just fun. Fun without rules, without obligations - without commitments.

"What's new?"

It also wasn't like Maria to spill anything just because it was the 'good cop' asking the question. She was keen on keeping the case for herself. Why she was so serious about it, she wouldn't tell to anyone, not even Francis. The Frenchman was a real help, though. He provided her information about Arthur's movement beforehand; now, he wasn't a traitor, for Maria was also his colleague. The little detail regarding Kirkland's disagreement on their close relationship held no importance.

"Nothing much. I gotta get closer to find out more - like his bodyguard or something. Or fool Antonio, but he wouldn't say anything more than how cute Lovino is or how much he looks like a tomato when he blushes or gets angry... Stuffs like that." She groan, letting her head fall back. "He's nice, but useless when it comes to that..." Upon remembering an important detail, her eyes snapped back to the blond. "By the way, you didn't tell me about the mandate!"

"I didn't know about it either."

"You're just as useless..."

"Cold!"

The reproach won nothing more than a shrug and an indifferent look.

"What else? Is Arthur up to any other surprises?"

"Maybe. You can never be sure when he's in such a bad mood."

"Well, you called him by that nickname..."

"But he has sexy legs! Anyway, it's because of the psychologist. Once they find a replacement, they'll send him to another centre. In Canada, I think."

"Too bad, he's kinda cool. Wait, they didn't find anyone yet?"

"Non."

Her lips curled into a sly smirk. "I think I might know someone." She said in that sweet, lingering voice that had never brought anything innocent.

* * *

It was finally morning and...raining. Despite the false stereotype of London being a place where the rain poured six days a week, today seemed to identify with the stereotype. Heavy drops had been whipping the windows for hours, only recently slowing down. Greyish clouds still covered the sky, barely making space for a few shy sun rays. The pale light slipped through the wet glass, falling on the sleeping figure's face. Lying on the soft mattress, wrapped into white sheets, was a man. Golden strands were messily scattered around his head, lips slightly parted and nose almost completely buried into the pillow. A hand rested loosely a few inches from his nose. He looked so ironically innocent.

_Beep_. The lips united and parted again a couple times as his eyes flushed open. Lime-green orbs, still fogged by sleep, focused on a small device placed on the bedside. _Beep_. His hand reached out to stop the alarm. Arthur sat up and stretched with a yawn. After such a long day, the sleep had been so sweet! It would have been sweeter if he had had someone special to share the bed with, but he couldn't afford it. Agents didn't have a personal life, didn't get attached to anyone new and would stay away from their dear ones - after all, a rival could take advantage, they would put those people in danger. It was the first unwritten rule he had been taught. He was not selfish enough to break it for a little comfort at night. But it was too much of a wonderful morning to have such thoughts! Apart from the raining... Well, nothing new in that. Pushing the depressing reminder aside, the blond crawled out the bed. He made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. While waiting for the water to get warm, he chose his clothes for the day: a pair of bluejeans, a shirt with various objects colourfully printed - headphones, musical notes, curves, graffiti and whatnot; the design didn't make any sense, but it looked funny - and with a text that said _'The BEST of UK'_. After carefully placing the items down, he stripped and slipped under the shower. The water rolled down his toned frame; he wasn't a buff guy, just perfectly built.

Half an hour later, he was all fresh and clean. And dry. By the time he was ready, the rain had stopped too, allowing the sun to shine bright and warm up the wet ground. He jumped in his sneakers and pulled on a black leather jacket. The difference between his all formal attire at work and the casual or punk one he wore in his free time, that difference was huge. One would say it wasn't the same person. Then again, his whole personality was a series of contrasts, showing based on the situation and place. Perhaps that was the reason why no one had managed to fully read or understand him yet. He didn't mind.

Once in a while, Arthur would serve the tea at a cafe a few blocks away. It was a cosy little place at the intersection of two streets. Maybe today he would take the breakfast there too. He contemplated the idea as he walked to the cafe.

* * *

_You know, I always thought stereotypes were kind of ridiculous,_

_So I wrote a song about it_

_And it goes a little something like this:_

_I think I love you more_

_Than a Japanese loves tentacle porn_

_And we should_

_Dance, dance, dance, d-d-dance_

_To these stereotypes!_

_Let's come together and live in this world_

_Like a uni-brow on an Indian girl_

_And we should-_

Amelia groaned, letting her hand to slip off the phone. The alarm song had always amused her, but there were times when she just didn't want to get off the bed. She rolled on the other side, hugging the pillow even tighter. She especially didn't want to wake up when she had a nice dream - and she just had one! It went something like this: she had just finished knocking out the last bad guy, thus being the heroine of the day and, like any hero, she got her sweet lover. Not the knight in shining armour riding a white horse, she didn't need a knight to save her; it was just the guy who'd always be by her side and cheer her while she kicked ass and did her heroic stuff and then await her in a shining car. Yup, that was more like it! And the lover in the shining car was so handsome...supposedly. She hadn't really seen his face or built, but he had to be! All she saw was his hair, his dark strands with tints of grey... 'Wait, he was blond. And had some really weird eyebrows!' Amelia jumped on her feet, frantically shaking her head.

"No,no,no!"

Something was not right! The guy should have been Gregory, or her crush from high school or even from middle school. Hell, even the cute guy next door. Certainly not... She didn't even know his name!

"Dude, that's so not cool."

With a pout, she stomped to the bathroom, partly to get the morning shower, partly to wash away that dream. Apparently, it worked. By the time she finished, the blond agent had left her mind. The woman quickly pulled on a pair of shorts and a top knotting just above her midriff. She thought whether she should have changed the shirt, but decided to keep it. She would take a jacket, anyway, so if they wouldn't let her enter the University building - _again_ -, she would zip up the jacket. She would have opted for a skirt or maybe a dress, had she not have baseball practice after the classes. Amelia was the only girl in the team, which caused her colleagues to often joke about her or hit on her. Too bad for them that she was second best player, fact that always shut them up. As for their attempts to flirt, she was either oblivious to it or pretended to be. Anyway, she played better when she wore shorts - also not giving the guys a nice view to her underwear. They were lucky enough to stare at part of her chest, though...

The blonde glanced at the clock. She still had an hour to waste, so she put on her sneakers, grabbed her bag and headed to the cafe where she took her breakfast almost everyday. In a few minutes, she was there and burst in with a huge grin on her face.

"Your heroine is here!" All eyes turned to her, some confused, some assuming that she was an idiot. Ignoring them, Amelia pointed to the waitress. "I want a hamburger and a coffee!" The waitress was already used to her entrance, as well as her order. It was a miracle she didn't get overweight with all the fast-food she ate. Next, the American's gaze averted to her usual seat. She frowned when she saw it occupied. Who did the guy think he was to take her seat?! He looked familiar, maybe because of his hair... Damn, the memory of the dream came back!

* * *

A/N: Time for reminder! 'The Evil Comic' - summary:

Every country had a dark side. During the World Wars, the evil side of every country grew more and more until it became a physical being. For once, the states united to fight a common enemy - the ones they called the Parallel Nations or 2p. After an exhausting battle, the Magic Trio managed to throw a powerful curse at them and look them forever. However, they forgot one thing...all three of them had copies among the Parallels, 2p that hold the same skills as them.

Many years after, a few of the Parallels broke free. It was time for them to take over the world and destroy their originals. And what better way than locking them into a universe where they held no power and then crush them like worms? After all, everyone knew about America's love for comics and heroes. When Alfred was given a comic as a gift, one made specially for him, one where he was the hero, he was oblivious to the trap. Now, he found himself literally sunk into the comic, needing to become the hero in order to survive. And the fact that some other lives - more importantly, England's - were on the line too wasn't of any help. But perhaps it was better that he wasn't all alone.

So...? Also, suggestions about what other nations or 2p you'd like in the new fic are welcomed.


	3. Permission and mislead

**Permission to repost and misleading**

Sorry, guys, this is not a new chapter. More** important**, though!

**I have given my permission to repost** my stories, posted here, on other sites or WIPs that are yet to be posted. To whom? **To pro-roleplay on Tumblr.** Yes, I'm aware she reposted fragments. Yes, I'm aware some are credited and some aren't. **I requested** those few not to be credited! Why? Because I'm not the most confident writer out there and sometimes I just want to know people's opinion without worrying about embarrassing myself or being shamed for what I like.

**Do not accuse people of stealing without checking!**

Thank you to those who took the five minutes it takes to message me and inform or ask me about whether I was aware of my stories being reposted. This announcement(?) is to answer all those 22 messages. That is what you should do before throwing mud at someone!

To those 78 anons who sent her hate messages - check your facts. Just because some big ass blog assumes she's been stealing doesn't mean she has. I don't care how it started, what the argument was about, I don't care about your reasons behind giving people such ideas. It isn't right! It's not just lying but also misinforming people, misleading them and defaming. Doesn't matter what blog or person you do this to, it still isn't right. Being popular doesn't give you the right to defame people without true facts and proofs. Sending hate or accusing further because you read it somewhere doesn't make it right either.

Take five minutes. **Ask the writer. **You might be surprised but some people ask for permission before they repost something and some writers give said permission.

Yes, I know she doesn't see anything bad in reposting as long as the artist is credited. I've known her for a few years; I've discussed quite a few things. I don't mind smoking. Do I smoke? No. She doesn't mind reposting. Does that equal with doing the action without permission? No. Is it possible? Yes. Is it mandatory? No. See my point? Check your suppositions or information before you start throwing mud. There's a long way between not minding an action and doing that action.

**Words can cause more damage than punches. **Words are strong, especially online. Seeing as she hasn't reposted without permission, she's safe of getting her account shut or anything. What about reputation, though? That's hard if not impossible to clean when there are a dozen people making the same statements, even without proof, and spreading the word. Spreading the lies. Will the 100th person who sees that statement check its validity? Maybe. But maybe not, because 99 people had stated it before so it must be true.

In this case, those words damaged reputation. However, there are worse cases when it's not the reputation getting hurt. **Feelings get hurt.** People can take things to the heart. Don't throw bad words so easily; you don't know what the person you attack has been through. **People get hurt. **"You look fat in that dress." I would shrug and change my dress. What about a person who's been bullied for being plump? Would that simple sentence sting or would they just shrug too? They might even take it as "Geez, you're so fat you don't fit into that dress!" See my point? I believe we have all seen just as much damage words cause, from a few minutes of feeling down to severe depression or suicide. As I said, this case is lesser and no one's feelings got hurt (though some neurones might have burnt from all that annoyance).

Back to the topic at hand: **False accusations, misleading and defaming are not okay. Spreading lies and starting fake rumours are not okay. Hinting without proof or as much as a five minutes check that someone has stolen something is not okay. Sending hate is bullying (in most cases) and bullying is not okay. It doesn't matter who you are or who you direct your statements towards.**

To everyone reading this, those who have dealt with similar situations and those who haven't, I feel the need to say this: **Do not let people act like that towards you. Don't let people disrespect you or defame you.** Doesn't matter who they are, doesn't matter where or when they do it.** Block them.** If they continue: **Report them.** If they defamed one based on assumptions and without checking, they might do it to others too. I'm not saying they will, but they might. You might not care because that's not you but put yourself in the shoes of the other person. Same goes for hate messages that consist of cursing, insulting and defaming. Keep in mind that constructive criticism and disagreement are not hate.

And if it isn't clear yet: **I have given my permission to repost to pro-roleplay**. **LauraFictionOfficial** (Wattpad) and **laura-fiction** (Tumblr) are my accounts, thus you might find my stories there too. So far I haven't posted anything and chances are I won't post fan-fictions there.

To people who are interested in** reposting my stories**, I give you **my permission** to do so only under **three simple rules**:

1\. Don't claim it as yours. Credit me and link to my profile or to the original post of the story.

2\. Do not edit my work without asking me for permission before you repost.

3\. Let me know that you reposted or intend to repost. Send me a link to the post. That way I can see people's opinions too. Don't repost them on the same webside I posted them, though.

*If you intend to repost on adult sites, ask me directly before. I might or I might not approve it.

Failing to respect these rules will result in a polite request to delete the repost. If you refuse, I'll have to contact the website's staff.

Please alert me if you notice someone reposting without respecting these rules. Besides the accounts I've already mentioned, of course.

Thank you for reading this far!


End file.
